As a shinobi blood was a common sight, and Sasuke found, as he grew older, that he didn't mind it.

After all he's life had been centered on seeing he's hands turning red, as they took the life of that man.

The blood of an enemy was easy to handle, but hard to avoid. And when his sword sliced the throat of an opponent, effectively separating head from shoulders, there was no time to think twice about the fountain of red life, that escaped the body, which was not in need of it anymore, because he was a shinobi, and the next challenger was already attacking.

And when everything was quiet, the only sound coming from the rustling leaves and mourning souls, he would stand as the victor among the dead.

And then she would appear.

And she would rest her hands on her hips, observe the area with critical eyes and with annoyance, exhaustion and relief tell him that when they got home, he could wash he's own damn clothes, because she sure as hell wasn't going to work her ass off to get that shirt back to its original color.

And he would look down at the mess of dirt and blood and wonder.

Because he could not remember, which color the shirt had previously been.

(In the end she helped him out because he could not safe himself)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was not bothered by he's own blood either.

He would remember every wound, every scratch, and he would become stronger. He would make sure, that he's opponent was given ten times the damage.

And as he stood there, he's numerous injuries crying red, he figured (even though he would never speak this opinion out loud, because an avenger was not supposed to think this way), that he preferred it like this.

Because he's wounds could be covered up by bandages, but theirs were too deep, and he knew, as he turned he's back on their unmoving bodies, that they would return at night leaving him sleepless.

And so he collapsed, because the adrenalin was gone, and the red sea around he's feet seemed so deep, that he could drown.

And then she was there.

He could not see her, but feel her. Feel her terrified and enraged aura surround him, and he wasn't quite sure, if this was the reason he's pain dulled, or if it was, because he's consciousness had already left him behind.

He felt her turn him over, and he could see. He could see her. See her worried eyes search he's form for any critical injuries. Her beautiful eyes. They weren't sparkling like diamonds, neither were they some unique emerald green. They were just Sakura, and that alone sent he's heart racing.

She talked, but he did not listen, because he already knew, that this would not have happened, if he had just stayed with the team, and indeed she would not have to heal he's sorry ass, if he had simply let her guard his back, and he was quite aware, that if he ever made her worry like that again, she would be the one to put him in this condition, and inwardly he accepted and agreed. On the outside he's lips was set in a straight line, because pride had jet to release facial expression from the dungeons of he's mind.

But he's eyes betrayed him, as they had done a lot recently. It was her fault, really. She had given them life.

Yet he allowed the unshielded emotions to stay there for the short moment, because it really was worth it when their eyes met. Besides he could always deny it afterwards.

She looked away quickly, cheeks burning while mumbling things that probably were meant to keep her mind off of him, while she worked. He couldn't hear, he was too tired.

And as he slowly drifted off to the sound of her voice, he wondered, because everything seemed so much simpler, when she was around.

That night he slept peacefully without dreams.

(Because just maybe she could chase he's demons away)

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

But this, this he could not stand. He could not stand her blood.

Because she was kind, and warm, and beautiful, and not dying (so he told himself).

And he wanted her to tell him to stop worrying and get moving. He wanted her to tell him, she was alright, and that she could fix this. He wanted her so badly to smile and punch him lightly, and tell him that behind his Uchiha-façade he really was a crybaby, because he's pride was already gone, left behind miles from here, pierced by the first kunai that hit her.

But she did neither of these, because she was already drifting away. And he held onto her tighter, as if she would not disappear this way. Her blood was soaking he's shirt, and he hated it.

Her shallow breathing was tearing him apart, and yet he wished for it to continue. Because that was all he could really do. Wish. He wished that he had been more observant. He wished that he had been faster. He wished that they had gone for him instead. That he would have been the one hurt.

"… Shut up"

Her voice was low, and meek, and beautiful, and so awfully far away. He watched, as her dull eyes tried to form a glare, that said: I know what you're thinking and shut up.

And then he's eyes drowned. And at first he was scared, because tears was still so foreign to him, and it felt like he's heart mixed with them and landed in small drops on her face.

Unconsciously he found it beautiful, because she had always deserved that part of him.

And he bent over and whispered a thousand things at once, and she could not hear, yet she understood. When he was done, he stared at her, and she smiled sorrowfully, because she knew, that this was it.

And he kissed her, and she could not kiss back, but she tried to put all her love in her lips, and he felt it and nothing else mattered. It was the sweetest and saddest kiss, because it was the last.

And he figured, that if he could trade all of the dangerous jutsus, he had ever learned for just one healing jutsu, that could save her, he would do it. Because she was worth it.

And it saddened him even more, that he was so late to realize it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blue, he thought. Before all the hurt, the blood and the death he had been blue.